tongue the droplets of blood.
The squeaking floor suddenly stops, as if my intruder is aware of my arrival. Time seems to slow as I stare at the door, waiting for something—anything—to happen. After several agonizing seconds, I find the strength to enter the kitchen.
I push open the door with such force it slams against the wall. Shaking, I stare into his eyes. He’s smiling, a deviant glare to his crimson irises.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to find me in here,” he says. His accent is thick, but I cannot place it.
Goose bumps prickle on my exposed arms, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m wearing pajamas. A too-sheer-for-comfort nightgown that flows against my frame each time I move.
My intruder is dressed in jeans, a dark T-shirt, and a jacket. When the microwave beeps, his floppy, curly brown hair sways as he turns around. When he faces me again, I’ve managed to take a few more steps toward him, and he’s holding a mug. My stomach pangs as the smell of freshly nuked blood wafts my way.
I lick my lips, daring a peek at his steaming drink, before our gazes meet again. His eyes are amused with me, and he holds out his breakfast, offering it to me. I shake my head, not stupid enough to drink something I didn’t make myself.
I was under the impression that I couldn’t be hurt while visiting the astral plane, so sustenance here should do nothing for my physical form. But I also believed I could only be visited by spirit witches, yet I stare into the eyes of a vampire. I’m beginning to wonder if everything I was taught before my transition was a lie.
“We don’t have much time,” he says.
His statement is a bit too ominous for my liking, so I take a few steps back until I’m safely beneath the doorframe. I make mental calculations, assuming I can outrun him to my body if needed.
In this form, I don’t have access to my vampire strength. After all, I’m nothing but a wisp. That should mean he doesn’t have access either. That is, if we’re playing fair, but I’ve never come across a fair playing field in Darkhaven.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, and then he takes a long, sloppy sip from his mug. I cringe as he slurps down blood, the sound radiating off my bones.
“Who are you?” I ask, voice cracking. I hate that I sound so nervous, so scared. I shouldn’t be afraid of him. He’s in my house.
“Will,” he says simply. He arches a brow as he takes another slurp of blood. When he sets down his mug, his teeth are stained pink.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice harder than before. Maybe I sound more courageous than I feel right now, and that’s a good thing. I don’t want him to know how terrified I am of the fact that he is in my astral visit.
“Looking for you,” Will says. He smiles, eyes glimmering in the low lighting.
My breath hitches. So he did come for me. What does that mean? If he wanted to hurt me, wouldn’t he have tried to already? If he can find my astral self, then surely he knows where my physical body is too.
“What was with the show earlier?” I ask, remembering the scratches at my door and the dancing light beneath it.
A sly grin creeps its way onto his face. “I wasn’t sure I could find you, and when I did, I thought I’d play a little game. After all, you only have one first encounter. I wanted ours to be memorable.”
“So you thought terrifying me was the way to go?” I don’t hide my annoyance. “How are you even here right now?”
While I wait for his answer, I think about the one question I should be asking: why was he looking for me? But I can’t ask that—not now. I’m worried his answer will be worse than our encounter.
“I admit it was in poor taste. I shouldn’t have scared you, but can you blame me?” Will says, laughing it off. He takes another sip of blood.
“Yes,” I say. I’m not sure why he’s even eating. Nothing in the astral plane is real, so that blood is providing no nourishment. It’s all an act—and he’s putting on a show for me. But why?
“So who are you?” I ask.
“I’m someone who likes to track special vampires—ones like you.”
A knot forms in my throat. I suppose I